the mile
by quirky cricket
Summary: Tim has to run a mile in 9 minutes or less, or else he's grounded all summer. His only hope is having his friends pace him. Pointless one-shot.


**the mile**

The worst day of freshman year had finally arrived: the day Tim had to run the mile in fewer than nine minutes or lose a full letter grade. He met with the other guys just outside the locker room before the class.

"I can't do this." He insisted. "Last time I threw up from running so hard."

"What'd you get?" Arnold asked, finishing off his Mallowblaster.

"Ten minutes." Tim rolled his eyes. "I still don't see how running fast prepares us for life or anything."

"I ran a six minute mile." Ralphie boasted.

"Dude, it was 6:45." Carlos corrected.

"Same thing."

"No it's not." Carlos scoffed. "It's practically a seven minute mile."

"You're just mad that I beat you." Ralphie smirked. "Because you were staring at those girls that ended up being sixth graders."

"They were not!" Carlos didn't have anything else. "I bet you can't run that fast again."

"I could." Ralphie said. "But I'm not going to, because we're going to pace Tim." He put a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Gee, you're too kind." Tim said flatly. Tim hated everything about gym: the t-shirt with his last name on it in Sharpie, the weird cotton shorts, the old sneakers, the smell of feet and varnish. He especially hated that the other guys were actually good at athletic stuff. He was doubtful that the guys' plan to pace him would work: Ralphie and Carlos were both involved in sports that relied heavily on sprinting, not shuffling along for an entire mile, and Arnold was a swimmer. He felt like he was throwing in with a losing team, but he had no choice. It was this or lose his perfect GPA and his parents' favor, then he wouldn't be able to do anything all summer.

After changing, they got into the gym and started planning their strategy.

"Okay," Ralphie said. "When I ran my six minute mile -"

"Six minutes, forty-five seconds." Carlos corrected.

"I had that dancing baby song in my head." Ralphie ignored Carlos. "So get a song in your head and just let your feet go with it."

"Preferably a terrible song." Carlos added.

"It's a good song!" Ralphie argued.

"Tennelli!" The gym teacher, Coach Powers, yelled. He often asked himself which deity he'd ticked off to have all four boys in his class together. Separately, they were tolerable, but together, they were nothing but trouble. "Get in line! Roll call!"

Tim had almost forgotten the dehumanizing experience of roll call, where the gym teacher looked everyone up and down to make sure they were actually wearing the right clothes, like the world's smelliest, lowest-stakes beauty pageant.

After roll call, the boys gathered together again. "Just breathe through it. It'll be over quickly." Arnold said. "We're going as close to nine as we can get." He looked at Ralphie and Carlos.

"Right." Ralphie nodded. "We take each lap at an even pace."

"Maybe go a little faster at the end," Carlos continued. Tim's eyes widened. "Or we just hold on. You get your nine minutes, we get to hang out all summer."

"You think this will work?" Tim asked. The other three nodded emphatically.

"Get a song in your head." Ralphie said. "A fast one."

"Not the damn dancing baby song." Carlos insisted.

"Ladies! Stop chit-chatting." Coach Powers cried.

"Trust us," Arnold, who never got in trouble, whispered.

Tim closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Fortunately, coming up with good songs wasn't difficult, as Tim had recently discovered his father's Led Zeppelin CDs.

Coach Powers blew his whistle and started the stopwatch, and all the boys were off. The athletes were out front, always trying to outdo each other. The four stayed toward the middle – behind the jocks, but ahead of the guys who were resigned to losing a letter grade.

"What's your song?" Ralphie asked.

"'Immigrant Song.'" Tim panted.

"Good choice." Ralphie was much less winded. They were a quarter of the way through the first lap and Tim was already feeling like the pace was too hard.

"Hold on, man, we're warming up." Arnold reassured Tim before focusing on reeling in Carlos, who had gone out fast. "Chill out, Carlos."

"It almost hurts to go this slow." Carlos said without thinking. "Sorry, Tim."

"Just don't let Coach know." Ralphie said. "Maybe we're all sick."

"You'd think he'd appreciate the teamwork." Arnold mused.

"You'd think." Ralphie echoed. "Speaking of sick, how many Mallowblasters did you just eat?"

"Four." Arnold shrugged. "I've done it before before swim meets."

"You had four Mallowblasters and you didn't give me any?" Ralphie whined.

"Dude, no." Arnold said. "Mallowblasters aren't for sharing."

"This is like a warmup for football." Carlos thought aloud. "I think I'm going to make varsity next year."

"Like hell you are." Ralphie argued.

"You won't either." Carlos retorted.

"I almost made varsity." Ralphie said. "I'm the fastest baserunner on the team."

"No one gives a shit about baseball." Carlos said. "It's a sport for fat men on steroids."

"Just listen to them argue." Arnold said to Tim. "Let it distract you."

"I'm too used to zoning out." Tim managed. It was getting a little easier now that he was warmed up, but the clip still felt too fast. Besides, he knew exactly how this argument was going to go, since he heard it a million times.

"Football is rugby with shoulder pads." Ralphie retorted, before remembering why he was with his friends. "How's it going, Tim?"

"Bad." Tim said.

"Just think of your song." Ralphie repeated, then started singing the guitar part.

"The faster you go, the less he sings." Carlos said to Tim, whose pace quickened just a bit. Ralphie stopped singing when they got near the teacher for the first lap. "Once I make varsity, I'm going to have all kinds of girls hanging off me."

"Bullshit." Ralphie said. "They'll find out you're the biggest nerd on the whole football team."

"I don't have any of the Star Wars novels." Carlos retorted. "Forget all of them."

"Any reading is good reading." Ralphie replied, knowing better to add that he'd heard that from his mom. "And besides, I'm not trying to invent some sort of hoverboard or whatever that was."

"Jetpack, douchebag." Carlos corrected. "And I was close."

"Close to burning your eyebrows off." Arnold quipped.

"I just have to figure some stuff out with the engine." Carlos added.

"See, this is why I like art." Tim tried not to sound like he was dying. "We're all nerds and we don't have to hide it."

"I don't really hide it." Arnold said.

"Sure, you've shown the whole swim team your rock collection." Carlos said sarcastically.

"I don't carry it around with me," Arnold snapped.

"How are we all friends again?" Tim asked, but Carlos ignored him in favor about musing about girls.

"Not only am I tall, dark, and handsome -" Carlos started.

"You're short." Arnold corrected.

"Once I make the team, I'll be irresistible." Carlos continued. "You can just imagine whole groups of girls sighing, 'Carlos.'"

"Not for you, though." Arnold said.

"Seriously, you kind of smell." Ralphie added.

"You should talk." Tim jumped in.

"It's not my fault that baseball is physically demanding." Ralphie said defensively.

"Not as demanding as football." Carlos insisted.

"You guys just love playing with your balls." Arnold thought this was clever, even though Tim had known it was coming. It was a staple in these arguments.

"And you love shaving your body until you're prepubescent." Carlos retorted. "Which girls are totally repulsed by."

"Yeah, it's kind of weird." Tim said. Talking to his friends was better than suffering in silence.

"And you have a weird name. Arnold. You can't imagine girls saying it." Carlos continued. "There are no hot Arnolds."

"There are so." Arnold argued.

"Arnold Schwarzenegger." Ralphie said. He tried to think of more. "Do girls even like him?"

The rest of the guys took a second to think. "You, though." Carlos said. "No one ever said, 'Oh, did you see Ralph? He's so hot.'"

"My grandma did." Ralphie said before he thought, and the rest of the guys laughed. "Shut up! That's not what I meant!"

"Stop it." Tim gasped. "I can't laugh and run."

"Too bad Ralphie's going to end up with grandmas." Carlos laughed.

"I'm going to kill you." Ralphie said, then got a different idea and started singing the guitar part of "Immigrant Song."

"Make it stop!" Carlos pleaded as they approached the teacher on their second lap. Ralphie didn't stop - he saw no reason why he should modify his behavior for Carlos's comfort.

"What in the hell are you doing, Tennelli?" Coach Powers said, gesturing Ralphie off the course.

"Singing." Ralphie said. Carlos flinched. At least he would have been smart enough to lie.

"If you're singing, you aren't working hard enough. I want to see you run it in seven."

"The whole thing?" Ralphie asked.

"Yeah, and you're wasting time." The coach said, tapping the stopwatch.

"Shit," Ralphie said under his breath and ran back onto the track.

"That's twenty push ups, Tennelli!" Coach called after him.

As Ralphie rushed past them, Tim said, "Damn, he's fast."

"That's what all the girls say." Carlos remarked. Normally, Ralphie would have started yelling at him, but he was too busy trying to make up time, and neither Arnold nor Tim cared enough to defend Ralphie in his absence. "Or they would if he didn't have an old man name."

"Two more laps to go." Arnold said.

"I bet I can run faster than Ralphie." Carlos said. Arnold rolled his eyes. "There's a lot more running in football."

"Ralphie steals bases." Tim pointed out. "Whether he should or not."

"He has no judgment." Carlos corrected.

"Neither do you." Arnold argued. "I mean, checking out sixth grade girls?"

"They were not!" Carlos cried. "They were seventh grade girls, and we were in eighth grade."

"Sure they were." Tim snarked.

"Oh good, you're doing well enough to joke." Arnold said.

"Barely." Tim said.

Ralphie swore as he ran past his friends, who were three-quarters of the way around the track. "I should trip him." Carlos remarked.

"There's no way he can make seven minutes." Arnold said. "We took the first laps too slow."

"Coach is a sadist." Carlos said, forgetting that they were within earshot of the teacher.

"Ramon!" Coach Powers cried.

"Dammit." Carlos said as Tim laughed.

"One more." Arnold said to Tim. "Just keep going like this."

"Try to catch Tennelli, would you?" Coach Powers said to Carlos. "And when you two are done, you can do a wall squat until the rest of the class is finished."

Carlos wasn't stupid enough to talk back, he just took off at a steady clip, trying to catch Ralphie.

"And then there were two." Tim said.

"I figured it'd end up like this." Arnold said. "They always get in stupid arguments, and I'm pretty sure Coach hates them."

"I think Coach hates everyone." Tim said quietly.

"Just hunker down and run." Arnold said, and hoped the girls' gym class wasn't playing soccer today. That was the only thing that could distract him now.

Tim did so – it was easy to think about how his legs hurt and his lungs wanted to explode. He couldn't be this out of shape, not in the prime of adolescence. Arnold was able to run after downing a stomach full of Mallowblasters, and he was hardly breaking a sweat. This was utter crap. Ralphie blazed past them again when they were almost halfway through the lap. Ralphie was sucking air hard, and Carlos was right behind him.

"I feel awesome." Carlos managed to gloat as he ran past the other guys.

"I feel sick," Arnold realized. "Go on without me."

"No." Tim decided. "Hang on for one more lap. You've got to get me my nine minutes."

"I'll try." Arnold promised.

"Thanks." Tim said.

"That said, we should go faster." Arnold decided. "Maybe we can outrun my stomach."

Tim knew Arnold was trying to get the best of both worlds here: making sure Tim was able to hang out this summer as well as trying to make sure any barfing happened after they were done. Tim took a deep breath and tried to ignore his body's revolting at the quicker pace. His legs pumped harder, and he could feel the impact ripple through his legs. He felt like an athlete. This would be fun if it didn't hurt so much.

"What are we doing after this?" Tim panted. The exhaustion was setting in, and he was half a lap away from the teacher.

"I don't know." Arnold said. "Push ups, probably."

"Ugh. I wish he wouldn't dock us if we were slow, so we could just walk the mile." Tim was sure he looked like hell, but not nearly as bad as Arnold, whose stomach hadn't responded well to the quicker pace. Arnold stopped suddenly and retched on the side of the field.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked Arnold.

"RUN!" Arnold managed. "This is your last chance!"

From the side of the building, where Carlos and Ralphie were doing wall squats, Carlos realized something he had to tell Ralphie, "Another thing – your name is a synonym for barfing."

"SHUT UP!" Ralphie yelled. He was feeling queasy at seeing and hearing Arnold cough and vomit.

"Ramon!" Coach Powers cried. "Squat lower." Ralphie snickered as Carlos squatted lower. "You too, Tennelli."

Tim didn't want to leave Arnold behind, but he had no choice but to resign himself to the pain if he wanted to do anything over the summer. He picked his feet up higher. He could feel his shoulders pull up toward his ears as he hunkered down for the final push.

"Reynolds!" Carlos cried triumphantly from his wall squat against the side of the school. "Bring it home!"

"Less talking, more squatting." Coach said. "One-legged." Carlos stuck out his left leg and winced. Ralphie followed suit when the teacher wouldn't stop glaring at him.

"I didn't do anything." Ralphie muttered.

Tim looked at his friends. They were obviously suffering. It was his duty to run as fast as he could to save them. He was hurtling at an impossible speed. He was going to lose control and he had no idea if his breakfast would come up before or after his legs crumbled. He ran past the teacher and kept going, though slower.

"Where are you going, Reynolds? You finished." Coach Powers called.

"What'd I get?" Tim panted, his legs wobbling as he tottered back to the coach. Arnold sprinted in, looking fresh now that his stomach had settled.

"Who told you two to stand up?" Coach Powers yelled at Carlos and Ralphie, who squatted back down. "8:50. Good job." Tim collapsed on the grass. Tim was exhausted, exhilarated, and relieved: he had missed this chance to screw up his summer. He still had other ways to ruin it, but it wasn't going to be gym that took him down.

"Stop being a drama queen, Reynolds." Coach shook his head. "We still have to do push-ups."

* * *

 **author's note:**

I don't own MSB, the characters, "Hooked on a Feeling" by Blue Swede, or "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin.


End file.
